Marion's Choice
by The Dark-Eyed One
Summary: Marion Crane wakes up from a jolting nightmare she can't quite remember, on the night she plans to steal  40,000 from her employer. Will she continue according to plan? Read to find out.
1. An Opportunity

The light flashed in her eyes, sharp and painful. There was a heaviness, then a lightness, then it was dark.

Marion opened her eyes to the sight of her cream-colored ceiling. She took a deep breath, feeling the softness of the coverlet beneath her. She was cold, and it was then that the realized that she was wearing only her bra and slip. She sat up now, looking around quickly, almost wildly, as if she expected someone to attack her. She put her hand to her heart, which was racing beneath her fingertips. She couldn't remember the dream she'd had, but she was now very aware of how it made her feel.

She swung her legs quickly off the side of the bed and stood up with the intent to grab her robe out of her closet. Her hand skimmed the coverlet and she felt it made contact with something and knock it to the ground. An envelope.

_The_ envelope.

Marion stared at it for a second, not recognizing what it was. Then the realization hit her like a brick to the back of her head and swooped down upon it, grabbing it and holding it to her chest. She was kneeling on the floor, looking around distrustfully. Some irrational fear held her, that someone could see her, could see what she had done.

Sighing now, she sat back slowly onto the bed, cradling the massively overstuffed envelope in her hands. It wasn't hers.

But sitting there, holding it, in her house, in her bedroom, fingering the edges of the green paper rectangles just poking from the outside – how could she not feel somehow that it belonged to her, that she was meant to have it?

Marion wasn't a religious person. Neither was her father, nor her sister, Lila. Her mother was, but in a unique way. After Eunice Crane's oldest brother, Steven, died in a drowning accident as a child, she didn't believe in God's mercy. Eunice didn't believe that God worked to make people's lives better; He worked to make them worse. He tested His children, constantly. He made them work to have happiness.

So Eunice didn't believe in miracles; she believed in "opportunities." Opportunities, not miracles, were the proof that God existed. When something bad would happen to Marion and Lila when they were girls, she would tell them that occasionally, God passed "opportunities" a person's way, and it was up to them to take them or leave them.

"Take your opportunities where you can find them, girls," she would tell them. Then she'd shrug in her nonchalant way. "Who knows? It might the last one God's ever going to send you."

Lila laughed off her mother's teachings as soon as she no longer needed the protection of their parents' roof, and Marion occasionally joined in when Lila would recall those memories with ridicule. But her heart wasn't completely in it. A part of her could appreciate what her mother told them. There didn't seem to be a merciful god looking out for people, at least, not everyone. After all, why were some able to live comfortably while others suffered? Why did some have to be poor and toil and sweat, while others could spend money like it grew on trees?

It was this last thought that made Marion remember where this money came from. That blowhard Texan who'd been flirting with her earlier that day in the office. He'd gotten right into her face, smiled his toothy grin, and she was forced to sit there and be pleasant while he breathed his whiskey breath on her.

Marion couldn't help but smile now as she thought of what he'd say on Monday when he realized the money was gone. He'd probably threaten Mr. Lowery and blame everyone but himself.

"Idiot," Marion said out loud. "Who in their right mind hands over that sum of money with no security?"

But then, Marion heard her mother's voice in her head again: _God sends opportunities. It's up to you to take them._

Marion stood up quickly from the bed, marched over to the closet where her open, half-filled suitcase still lay when she decided to lie down and close her eyes. She really had had a headache earlier, and she thought that if she was going to make the kind of drive she'd planned, she should rest a little. But the few minutes of rest she'd planned had turned into hours, and the windows of her room were now dark with night.

Marion looked down at her bag. She only had a few more things to pack, really, and she could be on the road in under an hour. If she drove all night and all day the next day, stopping only for food, she could reach Sam before Monday – before anyone had a chance to know the money was gone.

She now ran through in her head again what she'd tell Sam: she'd greet him with incredible enthusiasm, and tell him that she'd won some money in a radio contest. She wouldn't tell him the full amount; just enough that he'd believe she could have won something like that.

She'd tell him that she'd decided to quit her job, and when he reacted with shock, she'd tell him about Cassidy, that he'd tried to make a move on her and that her boss took his side because of the large commission the company was going to get from their deal. She'd tell him that she couldn't work for a man who'd allow her to be treated like that.

Sam would believe her; of course he would. He loved her. He loved her enough that when she showed him the money he'd agree to elope. Sam had an assistant; he could run the hardware store for a few days. They'd marry in New York; they'd fly there. Once they were married and settled in the city for a few days, Marion would tell him that an aunt wired her some money as a wedding present – just enough to go on a nice honeymoon in Europe.

Once they were there – Paris, Madrid, wherever it was – Marion would finally tell Sam the truth. She could imagine that he might be upset, maybe a little angry with her – but what could he do? They would already be married, and he would be so deep in debt that he couldn't possibly go through another divorce and alimony. Besides, they would be in a foreign country, and no one knew where they were.

She'd assure him that as long as they were careful, they would be safe. Sam now had enough money to pay off his father's debts – little by little as before, and to keep sending his ex-wife her alimony every month. Marion would send her sister a letter explaining everything, and telling her to feign ignorance of all of it if anyone came asking. Lila was a good sister and friend; she'd do it for her.

They'd live in Europe, as man and wife. Happily ever after.

A half an hour later, Marion was fully dressed, with her suitcase packed and a new black purse stuffed with an envelope that was going to change her life. She nearly made it to the door when she realized that she needed another jolt of courage.

The answer came in the form of a glass of red wine. It was the last glassful from that bottle – left over from two nights earlier when Lila came over for dinner. Now, it seemed like a sign: the last glass of wine from the last bottle she'd drink in this house.

Marion held the glass against her cheek and looked up at the wooden counter that separated her dining room from her living room. She swallowed as she looked at the picture of her mother's smiling face.

Marion got up and put the glass in the sink, not bothering to rinse it out and imagining the sticky blood red ring that would form at the bottom. Marion turned around to see her mother's blue eyes crinkled with joy, staring at her. Marion smiled back and shrugged, as if the old woman could see her.

Picking up the suitcase and her coat, Marion headed for the door, then stopped and turned around again. She walked over to the picture, half tempted to pack it in her bag. She reached for it, but stopped. Some things were meant to stay.

"Goodnight, Mother," Marion said, then turned the wooden frame to the wall and turned out the light.


	2. A Proposition

December 14th was a mild day, for Arizona. The sun was bright but not scorching, the air warm but flowing. Even indoors it seemed pleasant; no need to turn on the electric fans, just the one on the ceiling would do.

George Lowery would have found the sunny desert morning pleasant too, had he not been sweating from anxiety. He had entrusted forty thousand dollars to his best employee over the weekend, assuming she would bank it as he'd directed. But now it was 9 o'clock on Monday morning, and there was no sign of her.

Mr. Lowery looked down at the intercom on the top of his desk, his finger poised over the small brown button. He sighed and looked again at the clock. He didn't want to appear anxious to his receptionist, Caroline. It was bad enough that his big-mouthed client, Tom Cassidy, had blabbed about the bottle he kept in his office. He had to appear cool and calm, not only to Caroline but also to himself.

It was now 9:07, and he finally grew tired of waiting for the right moment. His finger made slightly shaky contact with the button.

Caroline's high-pitched, slightly nasal voice met him a second later. "Yes, Mr. Lowery?"

"Caroline? Has Marion come in yet?"

"No, Mr. Lowery. But she's always a little late on Mondays."

Mr. Lowery felt some relief from this statement, and he was grateful to Caroline for saying it. "That's true. Thank you, Caroline. Oh, and let me know when Mr. Cassidy arrives."

"Yes, Mr. Lowery."

There was no point in dwelling on it. Settlement was arranged for 11 that morning. The title officer from the law office next door would go through the paperwork, as he always did with Mr. Lowery's clients. The paperwork was already drafted and signed. This particular transaction would go through much faster than most, since there was no loan approval – it was all cash.

_All cash._ That thought made Lowery's stomach drop to his knees. Cassidy was an idiot, and he'd put Lowery in an awful position. Who wouldn't be tempted by cash like that, thrown down as easily as a stack of cards?

But what could he do? After all, Marion had worked for him for ten years, since she'd graduated from high school. He had no reason to think he couldn't trust her.

He now tried to focus on the other things he needed to get done. He returned a call from a couple who'd left a message on Friday, who wanted to list their home. He reviewed the budget for the next fiscal quarter once again. He even reviewed the topics list and reading information for the real estate convention he'd be attending in Denver after the holidays.

Finally he couldn't stand his busy work any longer and looked at the clock. It was a quarter to ten. Sighing deeply, he got up from his seat and walked out to the receiving area.

Caroline was alone at her desk, turned away from him and clutching the phone closely to her and giggling about something. Mr. Lowery cleared his throat and Caroline turned around in surprise. Quickly she mumbled, "I'll call you later," and slammed down the phone.

Not wanting to waste time listening to an explanation, Mr. Lowery said sharply, "Caroline, I'm starting to worry. Call Marion's home. Let it ring as long as you can."

"Oh, yes Mr. Lowery."

He started back into his office, then stopped when he thought of something. "Caroline? If you can't get a hold of her…is there – do you know anyone in her family we could call?"

"Yes, sir. Her sister doesn't live too far away. Marion gave me her number for emergencies."

"Well," Mr. Lowery said, scratching his head, "I hate to say it, but this is starting to look like one of those cases."

At that very moment, the door swung open and Lowery's head snapped in its direction, his heart pounding with hope that it was Marion.

It wasn't. In strode Tom Cassidy, his brown Stetson tipped over one eye and the big shiny buckles adorning the sides of his jacket forcing him to swing his arms in exaggeration.

"Well, Lowery!" Cassidy bellowed. "Today's the big day. Ain't you excited?"

"Yes," Lowery said weakly, looking over at Caroline, whose large brown eyes grew larger in worry.

Cassidy squinted in suspicion. "What's eatin' you, Lowery? You look like a possum caught in the headlights of a Chevy!"

Lowery shook it off. "Nothing, nothing. The title agent hasn't arrived yet, so why don't you have a seat on the sofa – Caroline, get Mr. Cassidy some coffee, won't you – and I'll be with you in a moment. I just need to make a phone call."

Without waiting for a response, Lowery practically sprinted to his office and shut the door behind him. With trembling fingers he now dialed the number for First Fidelity, the bank two blocks up which they used for their escrow deposits.

His call was answered by young woman who sounded as panicked as he was feeling. He told her who he was, and wanted to know if a woman matching Marion's description had made a deposit there on Friday. He waited while the girl found the transaction records, and proceeded to read her their account number, hoping that his voice sounded even as he spoke.

It took nearly five minutes – she apologized that she was new, and still learning – but finally confirmed that no deposits had been made on Friday the 11th into that particular account.

Lowery swore for a moment that his heart stopped, but he managed to find a voice to thank her for her trouble and hung up.

He sat there for a few moments, trying to decide what to do. Never, in his thirty five years in this profession, had he been in this sort of predicament. He had half a mind to assume no responsibility at all for what happened; he'd warned Cassidy Friday evening during drinks that it was highly unusual to purchase property in cash. The man should know what sort of risks come with that kind of transaction.

But Tom Cassidy wasn't the kind of man to play with. He was all rollicking fun on the surface, but he'd bury any man – or woman – who crossed him. Lowery shuddered at the thought of how Cassidy would take it. He almost couldn't imagine it.

He didn't have to sit in suspense for much longer after that. Cassidy burst through the door of his office, his steel blue eyes hard and calm.

"Lowery," he began in such a smooth, even voice it almost sounded like he was speaking to a child. "Something's going on here. You – and that girl out there – both look like you seen a ghost. And that other one you got – that hot little number who was flirtin' with me on Friday – she's nowhere around today. She on vacation, Lowery?"

"N-no," Lowery stammered, feeling that he was in grade school again and being reprimanded by his principal. He tried to collect himself. "No, she wasn't scheduled to be."

Cassidy looked away, chuckling to himself. "She, uh, she was supposed to go to the bank on Friday, deposit that chunk of change I put down for my little girl's house. Wasn't she?"

Lowery didn't like being talked to this way. He found his emotions shifting subtly from fear to annoyance. "Yes, she was. She had to go to the bank and deposit it because you decided to do what no one would ever advise and pay with multiple stacks of bills!"

Cassidy shot him a look that could have melted iron. "Who were you callin', Lowery?"  
His voice was thin and pleasant, his smile dangerous like a knife. "Who was it that was so important that you shut yourself in your office to talk? I wonder. Who?"

Lowery was about to answer when he heard the door to the office open. He stepped past Cassidy and into the reception area to find Marion hurriedly shrugging off her sweater and stuffing her purse into her bottom drawer.

"Marion," Lowery said simply. He didn't even bother to disguise the relief in his voice.

"Well, there she is at last! You should know, missy, you gave your boss the heebie-jeebies. Didn't she, George?" Cassidy piped in, slapping Marion's boss on the back.

Marion ignored Cassidy's comment and looked at her boss with her sharp, nervous eyes. "I'm sorry for being late, Mr. Lowery. You see, I…I stopped at the bank this morning on my way in to deposit the money for today's settlement." She flung herself around the corner of her desk to hand her boss the bank slip.

Knowing what he was going to say next, she began again quickly. "I know you asked me to deposit the money on Friday, sir, but you see, I…I started to feel faint after I left. I guess it was the combination of the headache and the heat. So you…you see, I went home first, I only intended to take a short nap and go to the bank before it closed, but…but by then-"

"Aw, there's no reason to explain anymore, darlin'," Cassidy purred. "We're just glad you made it in time to see me buy my sweet baby girl her weddin' present. Now, Lowery – just where the heck is that title man of yours? We've waited long enough!"

Marion sat at her desk, staring into her boss's office, even though she couldn't see anything. By now the title officer had come, and they all adjourned to the inner office to settle the deal. She knew exactly what was happening, every little step. During previous settlements, Mr. Lowery had Marion sit in with them, handing off each document one by one, recording contact phone numbers and addresses, attending to everyone's need for water, or tissues, or a new pen.

But her boss didn't ask her in on this one. She'd seen the look on his face before they went into the office. He was disappointed in her. She wondered if he knew what she had originally planned to do.

"You still feeling ill, Marion?"

Caroline's shrill voice cut through her trance. Marion blinked and started shuffling the papers on her desk.

"Why no. Why do you ask?"

"Well you've hardly said a word. I just sat here and told you all about the half carat diamond earrings I found in Teddy's sock drawer for my Christmas present. Honestly, it's like you're on another planet, honey."

"Mmm, just a case of the Mondays, I guess."

Caroline gave her a look that Marion couldn't quite place. It was somewhere between awe and suspicion.

"Can you believe Mr. Cassidy just handed over that kind of money to us? Incredible, wasn't it?" Caroline reached for the stack of unopened mail in the basket on her desk, then pulled out the silver plated letter opener from the top drawer.

Marion was fixated on the metal letter opener as Caroline slid its long, pointed, silvery tip through the fragile paper of the envelope. She'd never realized how menacing the object was until now.

"I mean, weren't you tempted, Marion? All that cash in your hands? Didn't you just have any crazy ideas about that kind of money?"

The tearing sound was deafening. The light reflected off of the point of the letter opener and stung Marion's eyes, and then she was taken to a place where she was cold and helpless and drowning.

"I just don't know how you did it, honey. You've got sheer will, if you ask me."

The walls seemed to close in on her. She gasped for breath, she clawed at her dress, at the wood of her desk, at the air itself.

"Marion!"

His voice brought her back. Marion looked up at Mr. Lowery, whose face was etched with lines of concern. She caught her breath and somehow found the strength to smile. She now noticed that the title officer and Cassidy were leaving the office. It was over. The opportunity truly had passed.

Gently her boss handed her a slip of paper. "Marion, Mr. and Mrs. Baines want to list their house in Mesa with us. I've already spoken to them this morning. Call them for the listing information and start a new file, will you? And make an appointment for me to meet with them, sometime at the end of this week."

_This is my life. I've chosen this_, Marion found herself thinking as she took the slip of paper from her boss with a painted smile. Dutifully she dialed the number and waited for an answer, knowing that this was her world from now on.

_Dear Sam,_

_Well, darling, you'd be proud of me – at least, I think you'd be. I looked temptation right in the face and I turned it down. I don't have anything to show for it, but at least I have my dignity. And that's enough, isn't it?_

Marion sighed and looked up from the letter she was drafting at her table in the diner. The afternoon sun hung low and sensual in the sky, and glossy metal of the diner's interior seemed glossier, almost blinding, as orange light was splashed upon everything. Marion rubbed her eyes from the brightness. It was hard getting through her day at work, but she wasn't ready to go home yet. The thought of facing that empty house, with its hollow sound and the picture of the pious old lady, made the knot of dread in her stomach grow just a little larger.

From the corner of her eye she became aware of someone approaching her booth. It was Tom Cassidy, with a hungry-looking smile on his face. Smiling as widely as she could to hide her irritation, Marion quickly crumpled the letter she was writing and stuffed it into her purse.

"Well, now. I didn't realize Phoenix was this small! Imagine runnin' into you, Darlin!" Cassidy burst out.

"Yes, imagine that," Marion said in a thin voice. "Can I help you, Mr. Cassidy?"

"Aw, leave off the customer service. You're off the clock, ain't you?" he snapped with a dismissive wave. "Actually, I wonder if I can't help you. Might I join you?"

Before she could respond, the boisterous Texan stuffed himself into the seat across from her and smiled widely.

"First, I wanted to apologize," Cassidy began.

"Apologize?"

"Well, this morning, I had a talk with your boss, and I realized that you'd been sorely tempted. Forbidden fruit is always the sweetest, isn't it?"

Marion didn't like where this was going, but she wasn't going to let herself get trapped into anything. "I'm sorry, I don't know what you mean."

"Oh, I think you do. Your boss is quite the trusting man, isn't he? He was almost walking the walls this morning. He was sure you weren't going to show up to work. And you know what I think? I think for a while, you weren't so sure either, Darlin'."

Marion laughed lightly. "Mr. Cassidy, I'm afraid I'm still confused. You see, I said I was going to deposit the money at the bank, and that's exactly what I did. Whether I was tempted or not makes no difference at all."

The smile on Tom Cassidy's face faded instantly. "Let me tell you something about me, missy. I grew up on a cattle farm. I raised Holsteins all my life. So I think I know a steaming pile of bull when I see it."

Marion felt cold inside. Where was he going with this? He couldn't prove anything. Yes, it was true: she had packed her bags and stuffed his money into her purse and had begun driving. She didn't know how far she'd driven – it didn't seem long – but she remembered flashes of the nightmare she'd had earlier while on the road. The gnawing feeling of dread overtook her, and before she knew it she was driving in the other direction, back to Phoenix and to her responsibilities.

Cassidy took advantage of Marion's silence and ordered himself a root beer float from the waitress passing by.

"Again, I have to apologize, Darlin'," Cassidy begun again. "It wasn't my intent to make you feel bad. Quite the contrary. Remember how I said I don't buy happiness – I buy off unhappiness? Well, I think I was wrong. See, I believe that in regards to you – I can do both." Cassidy smiled his toothy grin, and took a sip of his root beer before he continued. "I can buy myself a little joy, and at the same time, I can buy off your unhappiness too. And before you start by saying you're not unhappy, I'm not as bumblin' as I might seem. I can see it in your eyes."

The room seemed to become ten degrees cooler. The light seemed to fade and Marion could swear she heard the caw of a crow. The busboy, a tall, lanky, dark-haired boy, glided by their table at that moment and gathered their dishes. He looked quickly yet carefully at Marion, and his look was of pity that was tainted ever so lightly with disdain.

She turned back to Cassidy, who was still staring at her. "Give it a think-over," he said accommodatingly, and pushed a greenish-yellow slip of paper to her. "Here's the room I'm stayin' in – in case you want to talk some more."

As she drove home, Marion smirked at the thought of the grotesque man who wanted to sample her fine, soft flesh like it was fabric for his new suit. Part of her was disgusted – not with him, but with herself. If this were Lila, or her mother, or even in some impossible other reality, her co-worker Caroline, Mr. Cassidy would have been wearing that root beer all over him and watching her fly out the door in horror.

Marion, on the other hand, just sat there. She just smiled weakly and waited for Tom Cassidy to leave the booth – then waited thirty more minutes – before she finally started home.

"Just snap out of it, Doll," Marion told herself out loud in the dimly lot outside of her apartment building. "He's just a pervert trying to ruin your life. Let it go."

When she got home, she went to her bedroom and changed out of her dress and shoes and threw on slacks and an old t-shirt. She stripped the sheets off her bed and put on clean linens. She scrubbed the toilet and the tub. She sprayed bleach on the countertops and stovetop in the kitchen. She dusted the lampshades and the tops of the bookshelves.

She threw herself on her sofa after the hour-long cleaning marathon, physically exhausted but with a mind that was racing. Her eyes caught a glimpse of something small and square and hazel brown, lying on the floor. Curious, she walked to where it lay and turned it over. It was her mother's smiling face, captured beneath the bluish glass of the picture frame. In her frenzy of cleaning she must have knocked it over and not realized. Marion chuckled bitterly as she gazed into the merry, lifeless eyes.

"I guess I'm just like you, Mother," Marion said to the picture.

There were certain things that were worse than others – some things that were more forgiveable. A man who rapes a woman is far more of a monster than a man who simply murders one. Murder can be cold, impersonal. Rape is an intimate violation.

In the same way, prostitution is worse than theft, for a woman. There is honor among thieves, they say. But no one ever suggests there is honor among whores.

But Marion wasn't thinking of these things when she knocked on the door of room 308 at the Green Palms hotel, later that night.


End file.
